At War With The World
by Kima-Neko
Summary: Every Avenger has their own story, their own demons to fight. But together, they are strong. A one-shot series.
1. Natasha: Scars

Natasha remembers.

Of course she does, her memory is remarkable like that, and she couldn't forget even if she tried to because the mementos are right there on her body whenever she looks into the mirror.

The long gash on her right thigh – Volgograd, fifteen stitches, three dead. Her first mission.

The tiny but still very ugly burn on her left calf – Kiev, bed-bound for a month, fourteen dead and two crippled.

The four miniature scars right over her left breast – Moscow, a stray bullet, one dead.

The three claw-like scars on her abdomen – Moscow again, eleven stitches each, seven dead, four crippled, one burned beyond recognition and she has never taken a step into a zoo again.

The long scar on her skull, hidden under red curls – Sarajevo, seventeen stitches, thirteen dead.

The scar tissue on the right side of her ribs and the tiny scar between her eye brows – Budapest, too much time in the infirmary, lost count of the dead around seventy-two and Clint. Actually, she remembers Clint the most when it comes to Budapest. She remembers heat and fear and blood – so much _blood_ and most of it is her _own_ which is a first – and Clint hovering over her and his voice, telling her to lie the hell down and let him handle this.

The other scars on her body are faint white lines, their origins long since forgotten, and things have been kind of a blur after Budapest because she can't remember every mission from then on like she has before. Maybe because SHIELD has the technology to heal broken bones and open wounds more efficiently than anyone else, maybe because she has never been in that much danger ever again. She doesn't know and she doesn't really care. The missions that mattered are etched into her body and will be there until the day she dies.

Natasha remembers all of them all too well.

But sometimes, when she watches Thor beat Steve in a very heated ping-pong tournament in the Avengers' mansion, for example, or when Stark and Bruce present new and better arrows for Clint who just hugs both of them in return causing them both to turn beet-red and awkward, she forgets. She forgets and she smiles and on these nights, she doesn't dream about fire and tigers and stray bullets and blood.


	2. Clint: Frost

He's cold.

He constantly is and he doesn't really like it. In fact, he hates it. Even in the midst of a heated battle, he is so very cold and he feels like he is losing his mind all over again. Maybe he has never regained it in the first place, not after Loki poked him with that scepter or whatever the hell it was, and he is now doomed to freeze to death from the inside or something. Clint shudders from the thought and pulls the blankets up to his chin.

He is lying in his bed in the Avengers mansion, trying to shut off his brain, fighting off the cold in his mind. Is that even possible? He doesn't know but it certainly feels like it.

The others have no idea. At least he thinks they don't because nobody has said anything since he's back from Loki's Legion of Doom but then again, maybe they're just being nice. Clint has to fight back a smile – no, Tony Stark is incapable of being nice. They probably really don't know and it's okay that way. Or is it?

He's lying in his bed and he's _freezing _and even with all the blankets he's got, he still feels like he's on the freakin' North Pole, naked. Clint groans and buries his head in the pillows (he's got three because Natasha likes pillows in bed and he likes Natasha, so that's settled). He wants to sleep. He really wants to and he's not Bruce or Tony who can go without sleep for what feels like weeks and he's not Steve, either, who claims to have slept enough in the last seventy years. Clint _needs_ to sleep because he has missed at least three targets on practice today and the only reason Natasha hasn't called him out on it yet is because she's away to Washington with Tony, still pretending to be his assistant. He can't keep doing this, lying awake at night and staring up at the ceiling because he can feel the ice and the frost creeping inside his heart and his mind, he can't keep doing this because the Avengers depend on him and his marksmanship. What kind of a master archer is he if he keeps missing his targets because he lacks sleep?

Clint groans again and screws his eyes shut and shivers under four blankets. He feels like he's eight years old again, alone and miserable and sick and so very weak and why won't his brain just shut up and let him sleep? He has no idea what time it is and in the dark of the night, the freezing blue he can still see seeping from his body is even more terrifying. And cold, so very, very cold.

Maybe it's because he's tired – maybe it's because she's been trained to be silent and efficient in what she does, but Clint doesn't hear her steps on the floor and doesn't notice her presence until he can feel the mattress move. He starts, his hand already on the knife he keeps hidden in the bed sheets, when he hears her say his name.

"Clint." He relaxes instantly. She crawls under one of his blankets, rests her head on two of the three pillows, her beautiful red hair sprawled around her head, and looks at him.

"Back already?" he asks and she flashes him half a smile.

"You know Stark – he insulted everyone at least twice and after that, they were only too happy to let us go." Clint grins. She studies his face for a moment before looking at his blankets and asks,

"Cold again?" So she has noticed, then.

"Hm." His grunt is enough of an answer for her. She shuffles closer, hugging him, and presses a quick kiss to his forehead.

It's almost like Budapest, only this time she holds him while he's desperately trying to fall asleep. A last, shocking wave of cold washes over him and his whole body shivers violently – and then it's over. He can feel the warmth of her almost naked body pressed against his and suddenly, he isn't cold anymore.

With a sigh, Clint closes his eyes, her lips still touching his forehead, and drifts away.


	3. Steve: Help

Steve wonders.

Since he woke up in the future – and it really is, he's not dreaming this, he's been asleep for 70 years and everyone he knew is gone – he's always wondering. He wonders what happened while he was trapped in the ice, frozen and preserved like a piece of meat, wonders what has changed and how and why and he doesn't understand any of it. He's always thought he was pretty smart but after waking up, every child seems to grasp basic concepts faster than he does.

He has tried asking Tony – and boy, did that go wrong, you don't ask Tony Stark about technology if you don't want to be called at least six different names and feel even more stupid than you did before – and also Bruce – who has been very nice and understanding but Steve still doesn't get how a cell phone works – but none of it really helped. Steve wonders if he's simply gotten stupid in the past 70 years and what does he know, maybe being trapped in an iceberg does that to your brain and it's not actually his fault he is so extremely dumb now, or if mankind has gotten smarter since the 1940s.

Maybe it has, maybe he's not stupid after all.

But then, he watches Thor and Tony have a glorious drinking contest (which Thor wins, feeling not even the slightest bit drunk, and Bruce and Clint catch all of it on video while Natasha laughs so hard that she almost hits her head on the shelf behind her) and decides that no, mankind is just the same it has been back in the present day. Past. Whatever.

Steve sighs and flops into one of the big arm chairs in the living room. It's 4 AM and even Tony is asleep and Steve has been wandering around the mansion for the last hour, trying to find something to occupy himself with. Normally, he goes boxing when he's the only one awake in the middle of the night but all of his punching bags are in no state to train with right now and he hasn't got new ones yet. Maybe he'll ask Tony tomorrow when they're due and if there's something else he can do in the meantime because the gym is actually the only soundproof room they've got and he can't really train in there right now, can he?

That's why he's sulking in the living room, staring at the dark flat screen TV on the wall and occasionally glaring at the remote he still hasn't figured out how to use. He knows Tony has set aside an entire list of movies and documentaries for him to catch up on history and culture but the last time he has tried to figure out something on his own, he broke the coffee machine and he doesn't really want to relive that experience, thank you very much. Steve leans back and sighs again. Maybe he should _try_ to sleep – but no, the serum did something to his body and he's feeling well-rested and fine even though he's had only about three or four hours of sleep tonight and he knows he'd only toss and turn around in his bed until the sun rises.

Slowly but surely, he's getting frustrated.

He smirks as he imagines what the others would say. Captain America, Living Legend, Hero of the People, frustrated? Impossible!

Except it is possible and he's bored and restless and _frustrated_. He wonders if maybe, he can go outside and jog for a bit, do a few laps, anything to not just sit here and sulk, when suddenly, a gentle voice asks,

"Can I help you with anything, Master Steve?" The first time it happened, Steve had decided he'd lost his mind alright and was hearing voices but now, he's almost gotten used to Jarvis. The AI is very polite (which makes him wonder how Tony has even managed to program it because everyone knows Stark couldn't be polite if his life depended on it) and nice (which Tony also rarely is) and Steve actually likes it.

"I don't think so," Steve sighs. He stands up and decides that yes, going for a jog would be nice, when it hits him.

"Actually," he says and smiles a bit. "There is one thing. Do you mind helping me with the TV?"

"Of course not, sir," the AI answers and Steve's smile widens. Maybe the future is not so bad, after all.


	4. Tony: Family

Tony is angry.

Well, maybe he's not as angry as he is _annoyed_ and you don't really want to mess with an annoyed Tony Stark. He's sitting cross-legged on the counter of the kitchen in the Avengers Tower and stares down at the broken coffee machine in his lap. How on earth the All-American Hero has managed to break it is beyond him – you pour some water and push a few buttons, that's really all there is. But no, Captain Stars & Stripes has to go and destroy the one thing Tony desperately _needs_ in his life because he's an insomniac and doesn't function unless he's drunk at least one pot of coffee.

It's not like it's hard to repair the stupid coffee machine, hell, Tony has built the first suit out of _trash_ but this is a matter of principle. You do _not_ break Tony Stark's coffee machine. You just don't.

And it's not just the coffee machine, they've finished the tower not two weeks ago and Bruce has already managed to Hulk out and smash a wall and a ceiling. Tony groans quietly; as much as rescuing the world is fun and nice and all that jazz, he's living with a bunch of crazy people whose sleep schedules are just as fucked up as his is and all of them are deadly and mad in their own way.

Natasha (who's creepy enough on her own, he knows, he's seen her) and Clint (seriously, is that guy on steroids? He's so _tiny_ and for all Tony knows, there wasn't any serum involved here) seem to have some weird staring contest going on where they just stare at each other without blinking for hours whenever they see each other and does he even want to know what they're doing? Then there's Thor who comes and goes as he pleases (except when there's work to do and who is he even kidding, they're the Avengers, there's always work to do) and can't measure his own strength and also has some strange habit of throwing stuff on the floor, demanding to get "Another!" (wherever this 'Asgard' place is, they clearly never heard of a damage suit, Tony is very attached to his movie collection). And Bruce, while he's a really nice guy and Tony actually likes him (which says something because generally, Tony doesn't like people and people don't like him), really does have anger issues and if he continues to Hulk out every time he has a bad dream, the Avengers Tower won't stand for much longer. Now, Tony has made a full circle back to Mr. I-break-innocent-coffee-machines who occupies the gym almost 24/7 and has destroyed more punching bags than Tony cares to count.

It's a fact, he's living in a mad house and he's annoyed and clearly, he's the only sane person in here. Well. San_er_. Maybe. Just a little. No? Alright, Tony is probably just as mad as everyone else and maybe they should just paint the tower in all the colors of the rainbow and re-name their merry little group of madmen to "Wonderland Crew" or something.

Maybe, Tony really is angry and annoyed at them for forcing him to live in one place with them and repairing their stuff and constantly doing damage control in the tower but maybe (and as much as he hates to admit it because it is far more likely) he's actually annoyed with himself – for loving all of it secretly.

That's why he puts the stupid broken coffee machine aside (what the hell, he's Tony Stark, he'll just buy a new one) and wanders to the living room where the rest of the group is gathered and watching TV. Steve silently offers him popcorn when Tony flops onto the sofa next to him and Bruce goes off to explain they're watching _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ because apparently, that's Cap's favorite book until Natasha shushes him and they all have to wrestle Thor for the remote because he gets bored easily and wants to watch an action movie.


	5. Bruce: Apologies

He struggles.

He struggles for control, for peace, for calm, and fails miserably nine out of ten times. When it comes to the Hulk, actions really do speak louder than words because Bruce isn't exactly eloquent in this state – and he can't even begin to apologize for everything he's destroyed so far.

Three walls and a ceiling, six of Steve's punching bags, Clint's bed, Thor's wardrobe, a part of Natasha's extensive weapons collection, one of Tony's precious cars and what feels like about 60% percent of New York, part of the helicarrier and at least one military aircraft. Then there's the factory in Brazil and the campus of Culver University, the lab, Betty's heart and…

He's lost count because usually, the Hulk just goes and does what he does best: smash. And then there's destruction and chaos and Bruce is left to deal with the consequences which mostly consist of running away from everything and getting yet another new pair of pants.

Except he's part of the Avengers now and running away is not an option anymore. Bruce can't hide from the others, he knows, all of them are so very special in their own way, and he may be an expert on gamma radiation but that's about it – while everyone else got in on the team because of their abilities and talents, Bruce is here because of his personal inner demon. He can't hide from the others and has to face the consequences his very own Mr. Hyde has created and that's why he's going from door to door to apologize to his teammates right now.

"Don't worry about it," Steve says. "I've got more."

"It's okay," Clint grins. "It's just a bed."

"Do not concern yourself," Thor booms. "I will find myself another storage of garments."

"Well," Natasha sighs. "At least I have room for more now."

"Nah, don't mention it," Tony shrugs. "I never liked that Lamborghini anyway."

"We were prepared for this," Fury assures. "S.H.I.E.L.D. will take care of it, Dr. Banner."

Bruce struggles to keep a straight face because he doesn't believe them. He doesn't believe their kind words and doesn't believe in their forgiveness but he grasps it as if it's a lifeline – and maybe, it is. Maybe their forgiveness is his lifeline and this time, Dr. Jekyll won't lose to Mr. Hyde.


	6. Thor: Pieces

Thor is confused.

It's not so much Midgard that confuses him (well, it does but he's getting used to it) but how everything has changed. Not so long ago, he had been living in Asgard with his friends and his family – the Warriors Three, the Lady Sif and his parents… and also his brother, Loki. The times hadn't been exactly peaceful, of course; Asgard had to be protected from Frost Giants and other evil creatures and up until recently, Thor had been glad to fight them for glory and honor and victory. But then he had made a mistake and everything seems to have gone down from there.

There is a game in Asgard called the Game of Thrones – it's a game consisting of several tokens and dice and it's rather lengthy and complicated. Thor has never been too fond of it for it included too much strategy and far too little action for his taste but Loki had always been a master player. While Thor had struggled to keep his gaming pieces together, Loki had won one round after another. Somehow, this had always irked Thor somehow; he had been used to always winning, always getting the spotlight, always been the better son to Odin. Until Jotunheim, that is.

After Jotunheim, everything that's happened reminds him of another lost round of the Game of Thrones – first, he'd lost his home, then his brother. Thor cannot stop these things from happening, he is yet another piece in someone else's game and he is lost and confused as to what he should do. What he _can_ do because he might be considered a god but he's certainly not almighty.

The Avengers – he likes that name, it reminds him of past battles and lost glory – are gathered in the kitchen for breakfast and Thor stares down into his bowl of milk and colored wheat rings (Clint has explained that they are called cereals) while the others share their usual morning banter.

"Gentlemen, Miss Romanoff," the foreign, disembodied voice of the so-called artificial intelligence that lives in the Avengers tower suddenly says. "Director Nick Fury on line 3 for you. It seems to be urgent." Tony groans into his steaming cup of the black beverage he is so fond of (coffee, he reminds himself, it is called coffee) and Steve sighs while Bruce rubs his glasses clean.

"Yeah, whatever," Tony replies. "Put him through."

It is another mission for the Avengers and Thor almost hopes it's his brother again because he misses him dearly even after everything Loki has done. They have always been together and it pains him greatly that Loki has strayed so far from the righteous path… Throughout Thor's life, Loki has been by his side, his best friend, his strongest companion. The center piece of the game that is his life. And now he's lost and Thor is slowly losing hope to ever get him back – and it's almost impossible to win a Game of Thrones without a center piece.

But it isn't Loki they are up against this time and while the Avengers battle another mad villain – Clint is shooting arrows and Natasha is firing her weapons with deadly accuracy with Tony flying high above their heads, distracting the enemy, and the giant green Hulk next to him while Steve throws his shield at yet another henchman – Thor watches them fight and realizes that while he has lost his center piece, he has gained five extra tokens in this insane game: Mere mortal beings, whose abilities exceed that of their own kind by a great deal.

They are mortal and deadly and they are weapons as much as guardians.

He feels that this game is not yet over and it's making him smile. As he throws Mjöllnir into the next enemy's face, he laughs and when the foul creature topples down, Thor knows he can win. Not only this particular fight but also the ones yet to come.


	7. Natasha & Clint: Debt

_A/N: It... uh... got slightly out of control here. Anyways - enjoy._

* * *

She can hear his steps, so incredibly loud and clumsy in the dark alley. It's almost funny, he's even lousier than his predecessors and they were bad on their own. If they really think someone like him can take her down, they're even more stupid than she thought. She's not afraid of him or them – she never is, because she is the _Black Widow_, the best killer Russia has ever seen, and fear does not become her. She is the one everyone else is afraid of.

With a soft smile on her lips, Natasha Romanoff rounds a corner and slips into the crowded street before her. It's night in Budapest but the city is not asleep and she will use this to her advantage and get rid of her pursuer. Work first and pleasure after; she will deal with the rookie assassin later, after she has killed her target. She sidesteps through the crowd, disappearing behind groups of tourists, evading pickpockets with the greatest of ease until she is certain that her pursuer has lost her. Only then she leaves the street and backtracks through alleyways and side streets until she reaches the mansion in front of which she has first spotted the assassin. It would have been easier to kill him on sight but Natasha is in a playful mood tonight, much like a cat that plays with the mouse before it kills it. She's almost looking forward to killing the idiot who decided to take her on.

A quick glance around to make sure nobody is watching her, and then Natasha climbs a nearby tree and leaps onto the mansion's roof. It's easier to maneuver up here, she won't have to look out for civilians who could spot her and she'll get away from the scene of crime before anyone will even know that she has been there.

The night is perfect for a kill – no clouds, no wind, only the full moon to illuminate the city. She doesn't like Budapest all that much, it reminds her of Russia and she was never particularly fond of her homeland anyway. Still, the sooner she gets out of here, the better.

It's only a short trip to the target's manor in the rich district of the city. She knows his name and his face – István Jenci, leader of a local ring of organ dealers and benefactor of the Hungarian mafia. Natasha isn't supposed to kill him because he's a bad person, she couldn't care less about nonsense like that. Other members of the organ dealers just want to see him dead, simple as that, and Natasha is only too happy to oblige them; she needs the money, after all.

From her position on the manor roof opposite of Jenci's estate, she can see the middle-aged man through the window of his brightly lit bedroom. She can also see the group of bodyguards standing around the building who look everywhere except in her direction.

"_Idioty_"(*) Natasha murmurs in Russian and crouches down so that she can assemble her sniper rifle. It's too big to carry it around any other way and she has done this so many times before, she hardly looks at what she's doing. While she works on her weapon, she continues to watch her target.

Jenci is undressing a woman half his age on his bed and Natasha cringes a bit. She hates leaving behind a mess and a mess it will be if the prostitute witnesses this – which means she will have to wait until the woman leaves or kill her, too. Not like that matters much, it's just one more corpse on Natasha's list.

She doesn't like waiting which is why she takes the rifle into both hands and takes aim. This is not the first time she has used one bullet to kill two people, after all. Her hands are calm as her finger curls around the trigger and then it's three, two, one…

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Natasha freezes as she feels the pointy end of an arrow against her neck.

It's him, the man she thought to have lost down in the streets. She smiles.

"Congratulations" she says, not moving at all. She knows that every movement could be her last. "Not many manage to sneak up on me – you have outsmarted me, it seems."

"I've been warned not to stumble into your net, Black Widow" he replies and she can almost hear him smiling. "But I must admit you're good."

"Obviously not good enough" she laughs. Then, her smile fades. "Tell me, American, who send you?"

"None of your business." Another laughs escapes her.

"You are killing me on someone's orders; I think it is very much my business." He doesn't say anything but he doesn't fire his arrow, either. It strikes her as strange that they sent an archer after her – who even uses bows and arrows anymore? But he has to be good if he's here, so he'd be the obvious choice after all those who have failed to put her down.

"Why aren't you shooting me?" she asks after a long silence.

"Still waiting for you to talk me out of it. Isn't that what you do? Lie and deceive your way through situations like this?"

"Why should I? You have cornered me. I am at your mercy, American."

"I-"

She will never know what he is going to say because in this very moment, an explosion rocks the roof they're standing on and next thing she knows, she's falling. All of her instincts are useless in this situation as she hits the ground, hard, her breath beaten out of her. Natasha chokes for air and gasps a mouthful of smoke. She coughs so hard she can feel tears streaming down her cheeks but when he hears a sudden creak amidst the chaos, she rolls around just in time to evade a falling joist that lands where she has been lying moments before.

"_Blyat_"(**) she swears and opens her runny eyes to see the blazing remains of what used to be a dining room. Her head hurts like hell, she must have hit it when she fell, but there is no time for this now – she has to get out of here as fast as she can. She can't see the American but that doesn't mean he hasn't survived this, too. The explosion seems to have caught him off-guard so she assumes it wasn't set by his superiors. Whoever it was, they gave her the opportunity to escape and she sure as hell won't look this gift horse in the mouth.

Her arms hurt as she pushes herself in a sitting position and stands up. The dining room is on fire, there's debris everywhere and she can't breathe properly but she ignores all of this as she frantically searches for an exit. There, the door to the next room is still intact! If she can find a window, she can get out of here and figure out what happened.

As she takes a step towards the door, pain shoots up her left foot; she must have twisted it. But Natasha bites her lip and limps toward the exit. Later. She has to get out of here. She's almost there when she hears the sudden click of a weapon. Without thinking, he draws her own pistols and whirls around to fire it at her attacker – only to realize that it's not the American from before. The man is still nowhere to be seen and instead, she's facing a dozen men clad in black whose weapons are aimed at her.

No time to think, she can just react as the first bullets are fired. She dodges three of them and rolls behind a broken table before returning the fire. Natasha doesn't know what's going on except that something went wrong in this mission, very, _very wrong_. But one thing is for sure – she will _not_ die here. She grits her teeth as bullets ricochet across the burning dining room, some of them her own. She can hear grunts of pain as her bullets hit home but she can't continue like this forever. She's lost her rifle somewhere and if someone gets a hold of it, she's done for because the table she's hiding behind isn't going to stop a rifle bullet.

She _has_ to get out of here.

Natasha rises from where she is crouching and rolls behind a heap of debris from where she has a better view on her attackers. There are eight of them left and she can't see their faces or recognize their black suits but their postures are enough to know who sent them – Petrovitch. She can't say she's surprised, it was only a matter of time until Petrovitch would decide she's too good at what she's doing.

He's finally decided to get rid of her, then.

She mutters another curse and shoots the man standing the nearest to her before whirling around and making a run for the damn door. As she runs, she yanks a gas grenade from her belt and throws it behind her. It's not flammable but it should hold them off long enough for her to escape. The grenade explodes in a cloud of thick smoke and she can hear the men screaming to each other not to let her get away. But she's already reached the door and opens it – it doesn't lead to another room but to a stairway that goes down to the lower floor. A bullet misses her by a few inches and she gasps as it bores into the wood next to her head.

She can hear another bullet whizzing towards her and from what it sound like, it should hit her – but it doesn't because somebody grabs her arms and pulls her away from the projectile, just in time. She raises her eyes to stare at the American whose face is smudged and slightly burned on one side. He's bleeding.

"What...?" she begins but he cuts her off, yelling,

"Run for your damn life, woman!" She doesn't need to be told this twice. They run down the stairs where the archer turns around and shoot an arrow upwards; it hits a man who comes tumbling down but the two of them are already gone, already on the run through the empty mansion. Her thoughts are a mess, she doesn't understand any of this, why is he helping her all of a sudden and how did he even get past Petrovitch's henchmen? But she doesn't have time to think about his become the American suddenly stops in the middle of the hallway and swears loudly.

They are facing another group of Petrovitch's men, armed to the teeth. Well, shit.

"Must've pissed off a whole lot of people, eh?" the American mutters before he reaches for another arrow from the quiver on his back.

"I wonder why" Natasha replies dryly. He smirks and they both fire their weapons simultaneously, before he grabs her wrist again and shoves her through an open door. He follows quickly and yanks the door shut – just in time, too, because another explosion rocks the mansion.

"Exploding arrows" he explains with a smirk before pulling another arrow free. "I'll cover your back – run on my signal. There should be another flight of stairs right behind them."

"Why should I trust you?" she asks while recharging her pistols. "You were sent to kill me."

"Well – I didn't kill you. And frankly, you're not really in a position to be picky about who's helping you." He flashes her a quick smile and she can't help thinking that he's actually quite handsome. For someone who wanted her dead mere minutes ago, that is.

She doesn't have time to reply anything to this because the archer opens the door and yells, "NOW!", and then she's on her feet again, running as fast as she can, shooting men left and right whose numbers don't seem to decrease in the slightest. Natasha trips over a dead body und quickly cartwheels out of the way as a bullet whizzes past. Another projectile flies past and she can feel a sting where it grazes her right shoulder but she chooses to ignore it and turns her head long enough to shoot the asshole who almost got her.

"Good one!" the archer laughs and she wonders briefly if this is some game to him. But maybe this is how he's coping with stress, who knows – she doesn't really care. She's got other priorities now. The round a corner and Natasha does a roundhouse kick in a henchman's face before firing another shot at a man who's aiming at the archer. It's not that she wants to save his life but she knows she probably won't get out of here on her own. Gift horse, remember?

They reach the flight of stairs the archer has been talking about and Natasha curses again as she spots a new group of attackers. The archer just sighs and shoots another arrow before ramming his elbow in against a pursuer's chin and whacking him with the bow. She's getting tired by now and her ankle hurts, not to mention the rest of her body, still sore from her fall through the roof.

She swings down the stairs and uses the curtains of the window on the lower floor to tangle up some of the attackers before quickly reloading one of her pistols and firing a bullet between the eyes of the man who's nearest to her.

They run and kill and kick and kill more. She loses count of the dead after seventy-two (where are they even coming from?) and then, suddenly, they're standing in the main hall, just a dozen feet away from the exit. Natasha and the archer exchange a glance but before they can cross the hall, a single man walks between them and the front door.

He has no hood and even in the flickering light of the burning estate, she can recognize his face. Petrovitch.

"_Natasha_" he smiles. "_Glupaya devochka."(***)_

"Out of my way" she replies in English. For some reason, she wants the archer to understand her part of the dialogue, to understand her motives. She doesn't know why.

"Oh, does our archer friend not speak Russian?" Petrovitch wonders, his voice heavy with the thick Russian accent he has. "How thoughtful of you, my pet."

"I don't remember us being friends" the archer frowns. "Get out of the way!" He aims an arrow – his last, she notices – at Petrovitch's face. Natasha stiffens as she can hear numerous weapons click behind them at the same moment. Damn Petrovitch – he's detained them long enough for his henchmen to catch up.

"I'm afraid I cannot let you go" Petrovitch says and shakes his head. "You see, our lady friend here has become a much too good assassin to be left alive. She's dangerous. And if I were you, I would drop that bow of yours."

"Why?" the archer grunts. Petrovitch simply smiles – and produces a detonating device from the inside of his black jacket. Natasha grits her teeth and growls. That bastard.

"Because one false movement will kill all of us" the Russian spy informs them. "Leave the girl to me and you can walk away in peace."

"He's lying" Natasha whispers.

"I know" the archer replies. For a single, endless moment, nobody moves, nobody speaks. Then, the archer says,

"I don't negotiate with terrorists, sorry." Before Natasha can blink, he's already fired his arrow which pierces Petrovitch's chest. The Russian spy stares at the archer in shock before his face changes into a grimace of hatred.

"_Sukin syn_"(****) he coughs as a rivulet of blood trickles down his chin – and then, Natasha's world explodes.

Fire and heat and she can feel her skin burning, can feel the sudden and piercing pain in her body, she's on fire and she's deaf from the explosion and if this is death, she hates it with every fiber of her heart. It's like the zoo in Moscow all over again and there's so much pain and the world is red with blood.

Maybe she's hallucinating, maybe she's dying, maybe she's lost consciousness and is dreaming. She doesn't know. But suddenly, she gasps sharply and the pain is still everywhere but somehow, she knows she's not dead. In fact, she's very much alive because she can feel the sizzling pain of burned skin on the right side of her ribs and the sickening sensation of blood all over her body and smell its awful stench. She wonders how many bones she has broken.

She can't see a thing and she can't move but she's alive. There's a groan and she realizes it isn't hers. Something moves in front of her and then, she stares into the archer's eyes. Or rather his one eye because the other side of his face is swollen and smeared with blood. He must have shielded her from the explosion with his body… He must be hurt even more than she is but he has saved her life. Twice, it seems.

"You saved me" she whispers and he gives her half a smile.

"Guess so." She doesn't understand. He was supposed to kill her. She should be dead by now. So why has he saved her…?

A sound of a siren pierces through the night and the remains of the mansion around them. There are still fires burning and so much debris – it's a miracle they're alive. But somehow, they are.

She stares at the archer as he groans again and straightens until he reaches for a communication device that's hanging from his neck.

"Hawkeye here" he grunts into the earpiece. "I could use some help." Natasha frowns. So he has rescued her just to let somebody else kill her? That doesn't make sense.

"You should have killed me while you could" she hisses and the archer looks at her, surprised. "You bastard, making me believe I could trust you! I'll kill you!" She attempts to get up and hit him but her body hurts so bad and she screams as he clutches her half-raised left hand – it's obviously broken.

"Lie the hell down and let me handle this" he instructs her calmly before letting go of her broken hand. "I won't kill you, I promise." He stares at her intently. "You can trust me."

And for some crazy reason, she does. She believes him. Maybe she has lost her mind, after all. But maybe she's just tired of suspicion and running away.

She doesn't care anymore.

As the pain becomes too much, Natasha slips into unconsciousness.

* * *

**(*) - (russ.) "Idiots."**

**(**) - (russ.) "Fuck/Shit."**

**(***) - (russ.) "Natasha. Foolish girl."**

**(****) - (russ.) "Son of a bitch."**


End file.
